


A Time To Reflect

by HyperactiveLectiophile



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst, Self-Reflection, Time Travel, a weird amount of introspection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperactiveLectiophile/pseuds/HyperactiveLectiophile
Summary: Bruce finds himself stuck in the past, and while waiting for the league to pick him up, struggles to get along with his past self. Plus being in a practically empty manor is a bigger adjustment than he'd like to admit.





	1. Back To The Start

**Author's Note:**

> I did my absolute best trying to work out this timeline so if any of the years or amounts of time seem off, feel free to ask.

The fact that time travel was such a common occurrence that there was a standard, agreed-upon protocol was concerning. But Bruce wasn’t going to complain. 

There was some new villain wreaking havoc and shouting about how he was going to rule the world. The league was called in and it was all going pretty normally. That is until said villain’s final act before getting knocked out was to shoot Batman with a beam of light and he vanished.

Bruce landed in the bat cave in a flash of light, barely stopping himself from face planting on the cave floor. As he took in his surrounding his eyes fell on the man watching him. Even if the cowl had been up he would have recognized himself instantly, the batsuit itself was also kind of a giveaway. The Bruce standing in front of him was younger. His hair didn’t have any grey in it, there were no worry lines on his face. There was also this shadow in his eyes, Bruce wondered if the others saw it in his eyes too. 

He shook himself out of his thoughts and stood up, his younger self tensing at the movement. Bruce took off his cowl so his double was sure of who he was if he hadn’t been already. They stood there for a while, studying each other, cataloging their similarities and differences, until the younger one relaxed.

After a few minutes spent verifying identities, Bruce explained the protocol when it came to time travel to his younger self. Don’t interfere, don’t give anything away. Unless you have a solid lead on how to get home just sit tight and wait to be picked up. Considering his team already had the one responsible for this in custody and full access to his tech it shouldn’t be a long wait. 

Bruce began to bandage where the blood sample was taken, “What year?” 

His double didn’t look up from his work, “2003.”

Sixteen years, he was sixteen years in the past. Or an alternate universe set in the past, he couldn’t be sure yet. He knew the justice league at this point but was only partly involved with the organization, so he couldn’t be sure how willing they would be to help. Or more accurately how willing his double would be to ask. 

“Where’s Alfred?” 

“It’s his night off. He’s already asleep.” 

He nodded and turned to the screens that were set up, “Does the batcomputer have the files on other heroes yet? I’d like to compare them to what I know to make sure I’m in my timeline.”

“Does  _ what _ have the files?” The younger one asked. The shock and confusion he exhibited was probably the strongest emotional response he’d seen from his double so far.

Bruce blinked, “The batcomputer?” he gestured to the setup of monitors.

His expression of befuddlement didn’t change, “Why did you call it that?”

“Call it wha-” Bruce cut himself off. He almost forgot how most of his equipment had gotten their names. Dick took the bat theme very seriously in his early days, adding the prefix to everything from the batarags to the bat-fridge. It had been very amusing and the naming convention had just stuck. It would be about a year until that fateful circus performance, so of course, nothing would have the names he was used to. 

This line of thought brought on another realization, there was no Robin right now, and wasn’t that strange. For years now, whenever he pictured his darker identity there’s always a colorful bird by his side. “It’s nothing.”

His younger self stared at him for a few more seconds, his suspicion clear, before shaking his head. “I need to start patrol, the files are in the folder labeled JLA,” then gathered up his gear and started to stalk out of the cave. 

“I can operate as support since Alfred is unavailable.” Bruce offered. 

His double didn’t stop walking, “I’ll be fine.” 

The behavior reminded him sharply of Jason. Instincts kicked in and he took a step forward, about to insist that you shouldn’t patrol without backup, that it was dangerous and you didn’t know what could happen, but the words caught in his throat. He knew for a fact that wouldn’t go over well with his younger self. God his kids were right. He would try and mentor  _ anyone _ . 

Bruce got to work reading through the files. As he worked a sense of unease began to creep in making him pause. Something wasn’t right. He listened carefully to figure out what was wrong and that’s when it hit him. 

It was completely quiet. 

Bruce’s lip twitched. Leave it to him to finally get some quiet and for it to make him nervous. He tried to enjoy the peacefulness as he worked, it was a rarity after all. But that feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t leave. Bruce found himself glancing more and more at the cave entrance or moving to check comms before pulling himself back. Twenty minutes past before Bruce put some music on to drown out the oppressive silence.


	2. One But Not The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman returns from patrol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short but the next chapter will be longer!

When Batman returned to the cave it was nearly dawn. Hopefully, he could get one or two hours of sleep before he was needed at Wayne Enterprise. He doubted it, but it wasn’t like he’d never gone without sleep before. 

As he pulled into the cave something caught him off guard. Someone was playing music. It was fairly quiet, but still there. He could make out the sound of various string instruments but didn’t recognize the song. It was strange, to say the least. His older self was still at the computer, reading a news article about the recent founding of Cadmus Labs. “Have you figured out if this is your timeline?”

He turned and wore the same look Alfred usually had when he returned from patrol and was trying to figure out if Bruce was injured, “All events line up in date and outcome. So unless something changes in your future or there’s a difference I couldn’t detect, it is.” 

Curiosity continued to tug at Batman as he tried to get back to work. He glanced back at his double, “The music?”

His older self stiffened, and opened his mouth to answer before closing it again, considering what to say, “I know someone who plays the violin and developed a bit of a taste for it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Batman examined his older self, who was most likely doing the same. There was definitely more to the story, but he let the matter drop. He’d already noticed a number of strange behaviors from his older self that he couldn’t quite make sense of. The strange naming conventions, the concern about him patrolling without any support, this was just another thing to add to the list. It was tempting to try and figure out what else made them different and why that was so, but knowing too much about your future was risky. A tense silence fell between the pair as they continued to work, still watching each other.

“You know,” his double began, not looking away from the computer, “Getting at least 5 hours of sleep greatly improves performance in the field.” 

Batman paused “I can also get a lot done in 5 hours that I can’t do while asleep.” he didn’t miss how his double rolled his eyes, “Besides, you’re still awake.” 

His double let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, “If I had gone to sleep and something went wrong you would have had to face it completely alone.” 

“I don’t need backup. I’ve handled things before, and I’ll do it again,” he said through gritted teeth, his older self should know this. Batman didn’t need someone to look out for him. That was supposed to be his job and involving others would only end badly. 

The pair held each other's stare until the older shook his head and turned away. “I’m going to go upstairs and get some rest.” 

Batman didn’t say anything as he left, returning to his work.


	3. An Empty House That Isn’t Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce enters the manor, it’s not what he remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I can’t promise regular updates with school and just life in general but I hope this was worth te wait!

As soon as he got home Bruce was going to apologize to Alfred, and thank him for putting up with him for so long. How had he even stayed alive? He remembered his early days as Batman and he’d had no idea how stupid he’d been during that time. He could practically hear his children’s laughter. 

_ “Wow B, and you say I’m too reckless!” _

_ “I honestly didn’t think it was possible for you to be more of a dumbass but I shouldn’t have underestimated you, old man.” _

_ “Let's keep all of this in mind the next time you say I’m obsessing over a case too much.” _

_ “Really Father? I thought at least you knew better than to engage in this kind of behavior.” _

_ “For shame.” _

_ “Wait, I’m dealing with the more mature and mellowed out version of batman?” _

Bruce shook his head, it didn’t help that the argument itself remind him so much of the ones he’d have with Tim, trying to convince his son to get at least _ some _ sleep before he got back to work. Clark always joked that the kids acted more like Bruce than Jon acted like him, but Bruce had always been skeptical. Now, he suspected Clark hadn’t been exaggerating. Bruce sighed, he was never going to hear the end of this. 

Once he stepped into the manor he froze. Bruce had known the cave would be different, the technology he used updated regularly as did the setup, he added new things to it all the time and it went through significant changes with every new partner he had, but the manor itself always felt like a constant through everything. It was jarring to see just how much it had changed.

He tried to focus on his thoughts as he moved through the manor but every small detail practically screamed at him. The chandelier Dick broke so long ago was still there and so were a number of vases. The old carpets he got rid of because Wally kept ruining them when he ran were laying on the floor. A couch Kon had accidentally crushed was perfectly fine. That empty spot on the mantle should have a playbill from Swan Lake, the first ballet he took Cass to. Damian’s painting should be hung above that fire place and that table should have Duke’s homework on it. The ramps he’d put in for Barbara weren't there. Neither were the blankets Stephanie insisted on carrying with her. None of Tim’s mugs were scattered around and the bookcases should be way more full. There were no cuts in the wood from stray batarangs and sword fights. No scuff marks on the floors from an excited stampede. No newspaper clippings from favorite missions. No photos anywhere in the manor. Bruce knew that he use to rarely spent time in the manor, preferring to stay in the cave until Alfred forced him out, but this place felt more like a tomb than a home. 

It was suffocating. 

Bruce took a deep breath. This was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be getting this worked up over the manor being different. Such small details don’t matter enough to cause him this much distress. 

That was a lie. Those details were what gave the manor life, what made it his home more than any family history. This place was just a hollow replica. A reminder of how far away his home really was. 

The silence still rang in his ears.

He ran his hand through his hair, what was taking the league so long? It had been nearly 12 hours and they’d practically had the villain in custody when he’d been sent back. Something must be stopping the league from getting to him, but what exactly Bruce couldn’t say for sure. There must be something he could do from his end to get home faster. 

Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed the person approaching him, “Master Bruce?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys rather I stick to my usual format of one POV a chapter or wait longer between updates and have two a chapter since they’re so short? 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are not only appreciated but encouraged! Reactions give me life.


	4. Some Things Don’t Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred greets his guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while but I’m still here!!! I hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the 2 1/2 month wait!

Alfred had seen a lot in his time as the Wayne family butler. Men and women with fantastical abilities, criminals with more style than good sense, he’d even aided in bat themed vigilantism. But seeing an older version of his charge pacing in the halls was certainly new. He was obviously Bruce, he still has his mother’s eyes and his father’s chin, but this version of Bruce had small amounts of grey in his hair and more lines on his face, more weight in his eyes.

The man whirled around at the sound of his name, but visibly relaxed when he recognised who had spoken it, “Alfred.”

His voice had a bit more gravel in it, Alfred noted. There was a pause before he spoke again, “I’m...I’m not your Bruce.”

Alfred suppressed the urge to snort, “Yes, I gathered that much.” The man’s lip twitch at the comment, “Since you are not my Bruce were did you come from?”

He paused, thinking about what to say, “I’m from sixteen years in the future.”

For a brief moment, all he felt was joy that Bruce lived that long. But he quickly packed that away behind a mask of professionalism, there would be a time to celebrate his ward’s survival later, right now he had a job to do. “Is my Master Bruce aware of your presence?”

A grimace briefly crossed his face, “Yes, he’s aware. I arrived last night after you’d gone to sleep.”

Of course the strangeness would occur on his rare night off. “And I suppose you also haven’t gotten any sleep since you arrived?”

He looked away, guilty, “I didn’t want-“ he cut himself off and sighed, “I was on my way to get some rest now.”

That was not the reaction Alfred was expecting, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He nodded, “Good, I’m sure your younger self can fill me in on the situation. Would you like me to make up a guest room?”

A smile, “No thanks Alfred, I’m sure I can manage.”

He watch as the older Bruce made his way down the hall of spare rooms, occasionally pausing in front of one and examining it, before choosing one to sleep in. Not the oddest behavior for a man out of time, but worth taking note of.

Soon after Alfred entered the cave with a plate of breakfast. His Bruce was still working on the computer, only giving a grunt of acknowledgement when the food was set beside him, “I ran into our guest this morning.”

Bruce paused, “Did he inform you of the situation?”

“Most of it. He informed me that he was from 16 years in the future, and that he arrived last night.”

“Is that all?”

“I didn’t want to keep him up any longer. And since I knew you wouldn’t be taking the time to rest I figured you could tell me everything else.”

After he was finished glaring, Bruce told Alfred about his older self’s predicament, how he was sent back at the end of a fight and had to wait for rescue. Alfred knew that must be driving him mad, that he couldn’t do anything but wait. Bruce was never good at simply standing by while others did the work.

He was about to go back upstairs when Bruce spoke again, “Have you noticed any odd behavior from my older self?”

“You mean aside from him going to sleep?”

Another glare, “Yes, aside from that.”

Thinking back, there were small things. That he didn’t notice Alfred’s approach, the way he looked at the manor, not trying to make excuses for why he stayed up. Most of these were easily explained by the situation he was in, but Bruce would know that and wouldn’t be asking unless there was something else, “Nothing too out of the ordinary for a time traveler, why?”

“No reason. Thank you Alfred.”

Taking that as his cue to leave, he went back into the manor and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should also be in alfred’s perspective since I spilt what was suppose to be this chapter in two. I simply couldn’t bear keep this from you any longer while I finished part 2. Reactions and comments fuel my feeble form and are much appreciated!!!


	5. Subtlety and Secrecy (or Lack Thereof)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Alfred talk over tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my longest chapter to date! And I think the words are well used. I love writing from Alfred's perspective. The title of this chapter is inspired by a quote from War and Peace because I'm a nerd an that seems like a book Bruce would like. I forgot to mention it before but the theme song for this fic is Hello My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos. And without further ado...enjoy!

Not long after Alfred went upstairs, Bruce left for a meeting at Wayne Enterprise, leaving Alfred alone with his thoughts. Now he got to truly consider their peculiar situation.

He still wasn’t over the relief he felt. There were nights he didn’t know if his ward would make it to the end of the month, let alone another 16 years. But he would, he would survive, and Alfred couldn’t be more grateful. Bruce would pull through whatever trials had worn his older self down so much. 

And that was another thing, the older version of his ward should be about 41, yet he already had a fair amount of grey in his hair and lines in his face. But despite his obvious weariness, he didn’t seem jaded. Quite the opposite in fact. For as smart as he was, Bruce struggled to see how his actions affected those close to him. It was a long-standing fact that had only gotten worse with his nightly escapades. But that wasn’t what he saw with the older version of his ward. There was an awkwardness to his words that Bruce never had as Batman. He seemed almost apologetic when he admitted he was only getting to bed then. That he was going to bed at all was cause for curiosity, not to mention it was most likely unprompted. 

Both of these changes were very welcome ones, but Alfred wondered what prompted them. It was possible that Bruce simply grew more mature and aware over time, but he suspected that wasn’t the case. 

After he finished cleaning the living room Alfred decided to check out the rooms their guest had stopped in front of. It probably wasn’t the best idea to go snooping for clues about the future, but He couldn’t bring himself to be too concerned. There were six rooms in total, each appearing to be just another guest room, with nothing to differentiate them aside from slightly different decor. That the older version of his ward stopped to examine them suggested this wouldn’t always be the case. 

A significant other would explain some of it, such as the softened edges and added sense of awareness, but their touch would mostly stay in the master bedroom rather than a string of guest rooms. It’s possible one of them could be a personal room and the others were remodeled to become something new but Alfred doubted it. The manor already had most things and there are better rooms to turn into art studios or hide away. Martha had made hers in the music room.

Close friends could be another explanation. Some of Thomas’s old friends had specific rooms they always stayed in and would occasionally customize. Maybe his hopes that the league would help Bruce socialize more paid off. There were about six other heroes on the team so the numbers matched up. Even if he had a hard time picturing Bruce ever getting along with that lantern fellow, who knew what could happen. 

Satisfied he’d learned all he could, Alfred went downstairs to start lunch. It wasn’t long until he had a visitor. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

Seeing Bruce in the doorway was a pleasant surprise, he’d half expected him to go straight to the cave or gallivanting off on some lead like his younger self. The smile Alfred wore was genuine. “Not at all Master Bruce. Would you like some tea while lunch finishes cooking?”

“I’d love some.” 

Alfred had already made some for himself so there wouldn’t be any wait. As he got down an extra cup and saucer he caught his ward staring, “Is something wrong?”

“You're using the good china…”

He blinked, “Yes, I see no reason not too.” 

“It’s...it’s nothing.” After taking his cup of tea the older version of his ward settled across the counter, “Could you remind me of what’s going on in the world of Gotham’s elite? Newspapers can only get you so far.” 

There was no doubt in Alfred’s mind that his ward remembered all the major points of what was going on, but he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity for conversation, “Well, Mr. Aldridge has been furiously promoting his daughter’s recent book, and I cannot say I blame him. It was quite good.”

“Is that the one that compares women’s roles in Shakespearean comedies to their roles in tragedies?”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, “Did you finally develop an interest in good theatre? Have my efforts not been in vain?”

This earned him a small chuckle, “I haven’t read it myself. My…..a little birdy told me about it .” He wore a small, almost smug smile when he said it. Like he’d told an inside joke Alfred didn’t understand. Or, more likely, didn’t understand yet.

“Well this ‘birdy’ certainly has good taste”

He tried to hide his pleased expression behind his cup, “That he does.”

“Mrs. Harding recently went through a nasty break up and took up race car driving as soon as things were over.”  
“I’m the last person to judge someone for odd coping mechanisms, but why race car driving?”

It took a large amount of self control for Alfred not to gape at his ward. The man may not have developed an interest in theatre but his sense of comedy had certainly improved. “Apparently he was so controlling he wouldn’t let her drive anywhere, this is her way of getting back at him.”

A slight nod, “Good for her.”

“The Drakes made a huge donation to a nature reserve in Australia, they left two days ago to visit it.” 

Bruce went rigid, his cup frozen between the table and his mouth. After a few seconds he took another long drink and placed the cup back on the dish. 

“Really?” his tone would sound neutral to anyone else, but Alfred was deeply familiar with Bruce's expressions and wondered what the Drakes had done to inspire such anger. “And I suppose they’d also just gotten back from another trip abroad?”

Alfred thought about it and realized he was right, “Yes, a week prior they’d gotten back from a tour in Japan.”

A sound like a growl came from Bruce’s throat and for a second Alfred could see the cowl on him, all menace and righteous fury. What had these people done? Whatever it was, Alfred wasn’t going to learn anything from direct questioning. “I also heard Mr. Vanley would be starring in his first movie.”

Some of the tension left Bruce’s shoulders and he jumped at the change of topic, “I didn’t know he did movies.”

“Then I can infer his career doesn’t go very far.” 

They continued to talk about nothing in particular, only interrupted by the ding of the oven. As he pulled the baked fish out of the oven Alfred made a mental note to look a bit more closely at the Drakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to LilliputianDuckling who's comment inspired some of the ideas in this chapter and gave me the motivation to finish it.


	6. It's The Waiting That Gets You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is left to his own devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the rest of this pretty much planned by no clue on a time table. Making the title of this chapter extra relevant. I do hope you enjoy this update though!

Lunch itself was a quiet affair. Bruce tried not to dwell on his thoughts too much. Thinking about past events he couldn’t change wouldn’t lead anywhere good. The food provided an adequate distraction. It was baked salmon with lemon. A very simple dish that Alfred usually made for large groups he wasn’t trying to impress. He often made it for get togethers with other heroes, never the speedsters though. It wasn’t filling enough for them. 

After he was finished Bruce decided to go to the library. He tried to ignore the spot in the corner where there was supposed to be a blanket fort. Usually Bruce prided himself on his perceptiveness, it was essential for his work. But now it was getting annoying, noticing every little thing that was different. He grabbed a book and sat down. The library was a good place to wait, and that was all Bruce could do for now. Wait for who knows how long.

Bruce thought back to the fight with the villain. The beam of light that had sent him back in time hadn’t been used at any other point in the fight, it was a last resort. A chill settled over Bruce. What if the League didn’t know he’d been sent back in time? It had happened before. What if it happened again? Would Tim hold out hope like last time? Would the others believe him? Or would he be stranded in the past? In  _ his _ past? 

Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the villain had specifically bragged about being ‘the master of time’ and judging by his personality, the villain wouldn’t keep quiet about what he’d done, possibly even using Bruce’s position as leverage. He had to trust his team. 

The next few hours were at least slightly relaxing. He’d managed to read most of his book. Although none of the tension had left his body. Perhaps he could find something to work on in the cave. While making his way down Bruce went over his options. Detective work was out of the question since he could alter the time stream through what he solves, not to mention how his knowledge of the future could get in the way. He could work on his gear. Not upgrade anything, but there were always batarangs to make and suits to patch up. That wouldn’t alter anything too drastically. 

Once in the cave he started examining the old batarangs. Well, old to him. The design was different than what he used now, which made sense, he updated his gear regularly. These weren’t even technically batarangs yet. 

After re-familiarizing himself with the design he got to work sharpening them. Time started to blend together as he focused on the familiar task. By the time his younger self entered the cave he’d finished dozens. 

He could feel his counterpart’s eyes as he continued to work. “Needed something to do?”

Bruce grunted in confirmation. His younger self nodded before going to the batcomputer. 

At some point Alfred came down as well, handing his counterpart some files, and then started working on cleaning the cave. Hearing other people work and move around was a comfort.

Looking at his pile, Bruce figured it was time to start packing them for use. “Could you hand me a utility belt?” 

He complied and a moment later the belt was next to him, “Thanks Dick.”

Bruce realized his mistake a second too late. Alfred nearly dropped the supplies he was holding while his younger self jerked to face him, both looked completely aghast. 

“Master Bruce!”

“One of my” Don’t say kids, ”associates is named Richard but goes by Dick. I’m used to him helping me with this and must have slipped up.” There, that was a believable and mostly true response. They didn’t need to know he’d been mixing up names since Jason moved in. Hopefully a name wouldn’t cause too much damage. Alfred shook his head in exasperation, but younger Bruce continued to stare. It struck him then that this Bruce was the same age as Dick, if not slightly younger. God, his son was the same age Bruce was when he adopted him! When had that happened?

A grunt knocked him out of his thoughts, his counterpart had gone back to the computer. Bruce sighed and opened the file. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfred still staring at him, more analytical now than upset. He glanced a few times between Bruce and his younger self, before he got back to work. They all slipped back into a comfortable quiet.


	7. Compare and Contrast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two Bruces get to know each other a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers you have been so nice and patient with me I cannot thank you enough. This was a the longest wait so far and y'all have been nothing but kind. A lot happens in this chapter and I stalled as multiple points and eventually decided to cut it in half. As usual I hope the wait was worth it! 
> 
> I do make some references to areas in Gotham and their distance from one another so if you get confused here's the map I used.  
https://doc-squash.tumblr.com/post/185772256863/straight-outta-gotham
> 
> As a bit of a treat (and a way of handling my writers block) I made a playlist for this fic!  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5cqoG9x2jqFnti7DBr4eX7?si=0BQvECJqTASicDb26fItLw

Bruce was a detective by nature, and he was struggling to keep that nature in check when it came to his older self. There were so many questions, so many inconsistencies, his curiosity burned. Sometimes he found himself instinctively trying to put the pieces together and had to remind himself this wasn’t a mystery he should solve. In fact, solving it would be extremely dangerous. Knowing his own future could only end badly, even if he managed to improve things for himself, someone else would pay the price. 

His older self seemed to understand this. Despite some of his...stranger actions, he hadn’t attempted to inform him of the future and seemed to take care not to alter the timeline. There was some comfort in that. A part of Bruce had always worried his fight would end with him becoming the very thing he fought. It was reassuring that even so far in the future he was still a hero, still put others before himself. Although it could also mean there was nothing his older self wished to change, but Bruce doubted it. Their path inherently included tragedy, it was impossible to avoid. 

As Bruce put the finishing touches on his case file Alfred came down with two cups of tea. He gave the butler an appreciative nod when he set one of the cups next to him, taking the other to his older self before going back upstairs. Glancing over, Bruce saw his older self give a silent thank you as he accepted his cup. A small smile formed on his face after taking a sip. Bruce didn’t realize he was staring until his counterpart met his eyes. He looked down at the cup, “With how different things are it’s nice to have something consistent, and Alfred's tea is just as good.”

Bruce nodded, that made sense, this couldn’t have been easy for his counterpart. He tried not to dwell on the confirmation that things were as different as he suspected in the future. 

His older self seemed to take this as an invitation for more interaction and walked over. He paused next to his younger self, examining the computer screen. "You're finishing up a case."

Surprisingly, his voice rang with interest rather than the condescension from earlier. Bruce figured there was no harm in indulging him, he'd already solved this case after all. "After I complete this report for the file I'll be done."

His counterpart leaned forward to read the screen better, "Chloe Tate, I don't think I remember her."

This wasn't surprising, there were a lot of cases over 16 years and Tate's wasn't the most unique. "It started when five of Falcone's men turned up severely injured in the span of 2 weeks. Three had concussions, one had permanent brain damage, another had to have several fingers amputated, all five had severe injuries consistent with a tire iron."

He could see the gears turning in his older self's head, "Any links aside from working for Falcone?"

"The first two were known to work together often and had taken numerous jobs together in the last month alone. They also received the worst of the injuries." his counterpart nodded along as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the screen. "The other three varied in both rank and position. The only other connection being they all on occasion worked near Burnley, even if that wasn't always where they were found beaten."

"That's still quite a large section of the city." the older man began to stroke his chin as he thought, "It says in the report that the first two were found only a day apart from each other but in completely different parts of Gotham. While the third was found in Burnley five days later. The last two being found on the border of Burnley and the Narrows each three days apart. I'd wager the first two were personal in some way, the third was spontaneous but caused the perpetrator to seek out more of Falcone's men."

The corner of Bruce's lip twitched, "My thoughts exactly. The victims didn't have much useful information aside from their assailant being a woman of medium height with broad shoulders. Everything else varied. I needed a way to narrow down the suspect list."

The older man glanced at Bruce, wearing a similar expression, "You looked into jobs the first two took in or near Burnley."

"I did." Bruce pulled up a map on the computer of the pair's previous jobs, "In the past four months the pair was very active in that area, working mainly as enforcers of some kind. They participated in several confirmed intimidation attempts, one possible drive by, one confirmed act of arson, possibly another, and were seen at a number of drug deals, most likely as muscle to make sure the deals go smoothly. However they seemed to work mainly as debt collectors for the Falcone family."

"That is quite a lot of people who would have a vendetta against them." his older self commented absently as he looked at the dates of each marker on the map. "What led you to Mrs. Tate?"

Bruce let out a sigh at that, "Unfortunately, in the days it took me to learn this information, two more of Falcone's men were found beaten."

His counterpart's brow furrowed, "Did it take Gordon that long to find the files on them?"

Now it was Bruce's turn to be confused, he narrowed his eyes at his double, "I didn't go to Gordon."

There was a moment of quiet as the two stared at each other, before the older finally spoke, "Right." He turned back to the computer, "Did these two also share no connection aside from Burnley?"

The slight tension in the air broke and Bruce continued with the case, "Yes, the first was a drug runner while the second was a bodyguard for higher ranking members. I doubt they'd ever met. The first was found in The Bowery and suffered a broken jaw and several broken ribs. While the second suffered a much harsher beating with limbs suffering multiple breaks to the same bone and permanent nerve damage in his left leg and was found directly in Burnley. All of their wounds were consistent with a tire iron and they gave the same description of a broad shouldered woman."

"The victim found in The Bowery had the lightest of the beatings and was the farthest from Burnley, discounting the first two who Mrs. Tate presumably tracked down personally."

Bruce gave a nod of confirmation, "And the bodyguard has one of the harshest."

The older man considered this for a moment, "She was hunting for members of the Falcone Family mob, the closer they were to her starting point the more energy she had to fight them."

"While she grew more and more tired the farther she had to travel to find someone, and couldn't inflict as much damage when the time came."

Excitement began leaking into his counterpart's tone, "Which means she either didn't have access to a car or couldn't use the one she had."

A small proud smile formed on Bruce's face, "And Mrs. Tate's only vehicle is painted with the logo of her auto repair shop, while she would obscure her hair and features on these observations, she never took her car in fear of it being recognized." his expression hardened, "Mrs. Tate's younger brother was also killed a month and a half ago in that act of arson I mentioned. Anthony Tate had been staying in a hotel at the time and the owner had serious debts with the Falcone family, so they burned down one of his hotels as a threat, Anthony was caught inside."

His double's voice was somber when he finally spoke, "I imagine the two men never faced any consequences for this."

"They did not." Bruce pulled up the original report and began typing again, "However I gave the new evidence I found to the GCPD and the men will be taken into police custody once they recover. Mrs. Tate was happy to testify and I made sure her position in Arkham would not inhibit that."

His counterpart whirled to face him, "You put her in  _ Arkham?! _ "

For a second, all Bruce could do was blink at his double, "I gave her a choice, I could hand her over to the police with the evidence I gathered, or she could check herself into the asylum."

"What kind of choice is that?!" the older man nearly roared.

"The only one she had." Bruce grit his teeth.

His double scowled. "No. It wasn't."

Bruce crossed his arms, "What else would you have me do? Talk to her?"

He threw his hands in the air, "Yes!" There was a pause as the older man took a breath and began to rub his temple, "You should have tried talking with her, convincing her this isn’t the right path."

"We aren’t qualified for that," a scoff came from Bruce's counterpart but he cut him off with a glare, "And besides, she put a few to many people in the hospital to simply talk it out. At least this way she doesn't have a felony attached to her when she gets out and she can actually get the help she needs."

His counterpart ran his hand through his hair, "She was hurt and grieving not criminally insane!"

“And that grief drove her to assault 7 men, causing permanent damage to 3 of them.” his voice was tight as he struggled to keep from shouting.

His older self cocked his head, “And we’ve never caused permanent damage?”

Anger shot through Bruce, “We are  _ not _ the same as her.”

“How?" he took a step forward and kept pressing. "She took justice into her own hands the same way we did, for the same reason we did. What makes us more qualified-”

“The 2 years with the league of assassins and body armor are what make us more qualified." Bruce snapped back, "We are trained and equipped to deal with this in a way others aren’t.”

"So it's our strength and money that make us more qualified to deal out justice?" His double's voice was sharp.

Bruce scowled, "You know that's not what I meant."

"No please, " he fixed his younger self with a glare, "What  _ do _ you mean?"

"Did you forget what happens when others get involved?!" Bruce shouted, unable to hold back his anger anymore, "We both know where this life leads, and do it so no one else has to! Chloe shouldn't  _ have _ to take things into her own hands and Arkham is the far better option than her destroying herself for something that's our responsibility! I'll be damned before I let anyone else get hurt for my crusade! And they  _ will _ get hurt, and it'll be our fault for not stopping it! And with how you act I'd be surprised if you  _ haven't _ gotten someone killed!"

The color had drained from his counterpart's face and he went still. His expression shifted to something unreadable but his eyes swirled with emotion. He shifted his gaze to an empty part of the cave and Bruce felt dread start to fill them. Before he could say anything his older self turned and left without another word. Leaving Bruce alone in the cave, wondering what the hell was going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be back to Alfred and while I think it'll be shorter, big stuff is gonna happen.


	8. Changing Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred deals with the fallout of the Bruces' fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to have this one done a bit sooner than usual. I've been working on a lot of other works as well and it's weird being this productive. I am hoping to have something for the one year anniversary but I can't make any promises. That said, I do have part of next chapter written (it has been for a while)

Alfred had been gone ten minutes, fifteen at the most. He'd simply left to prepare some snacks, Bruce was more likely to eat them then full meals. When he returned, the tension in the air was palpable. His Bruce was still at the computer, although his shoulders were tense. The older was no longer at the weapons station, his cup of tea abandoned by the computer. Something had happened.

The butler decided to seek out the older man first, he seemed to be more open with these kinds of things. It didn't take long to find him. Alfred knew he still had to be in the cave and that greatly narrowed his options to hide. In the end, Alfred found him at the edge of the cave, watching the bats. He nearly scolded Bruce for sitting on the cave floor until he saw his expression. His gaze was distant, the way it always was when he was preoccupied with his thoughts, usually negative ones. But there was a weight there Alfred hadn't seen before. He looked so tired.

He didn't look at Alfred as he approached, continuing to watch the bats flit around above them. For a long moment the two just stayed there, not speaking. Eventually Bruce took a piece of fruit off Alfred's tray and tossed it into the air, one of the bats catching it.

"If you keep feeding them they'll start invading your section of the cave." Alfred's tone was too mild to hold any real disapproval.

Some of the tension left Bruce's shoulders, "We actually started feeding them regularly, although always in areas of the cave not in use so they'd be encouraged to stay out of the way."

It was a good plan, although Alfred couldn't picture either of them coming up with it. Perhaps it was his 'associate' Richard. He didn't ask, instead deciding to broach the elephant in the room. "Would you like to tell me what happened between you and your younger self?"

"It was noth-" Alfred cut him off with a glare and raised eyebrows. Bruce sighed, "There was a disagreement over how he handled a case. We both could have handled it better."

"I'm sure you could have." Alfred agreed, "And yet you're the one who left to stare at bats."

Bruce looked away, "My counterpart said something that.....hit harder than he meant it too." Alfred remained quiet, waiting. After a few minutes Bruce continued. "I'm not mad at him, not really. He wasn't trying to be hurtful. He doesn't know the weight behind what he said. Besides," he hung his head, "It's hard to be mad at him for saying something I've told myself plenty of times."

There was something raw there, something deep seeded and hurting. Alfred knew there wasn't much he could do to help, to ease his ward's pain. He didn't even know what was causing it, but he could at least try to give some comfort. Putting his hand on Bruce's shoulder, Alfred looked his ward in the eye, "Well, it's a good thing you are often wrong about yourself Master Bruce. This trip provides plenty of proof to that." Ignoring Bruce's shocked expression, the Butler handed him some more fruit before heading back into the main area of the cave.

When he got back the younger version of his ward was no longer at the computer, having moved to filing cabinets. He always insisted on keeping physical records as well as those on the computer. He only looked up from what he was reading when the tray of snacks was set down rather loudly next to him. Meeting Alfred's disapproving look with a sheepish one. He spoke after a few more moments under his butler's glare. "I didn't intend to cause an argument."

"There's no need to apologize to me. I'm not the one you hurt."

The younger man gave a stiff nod before looking back at the file. There was a long pause before Bruce spoke again. "How is he?"

"Shaken. Whatever you said deeply affected him."

Bruce glanced at an empty part of the cave before looking back at the file. "I'll talk with him later. I think he'd rather be alone right now."

From there they fell into a comfortable silence. Alfred helping Bruce with his research into former Arkham residents. After handing Bruce another stack of files Alfred decided to ask the question that's been on his mind. “What  _ are _ your thoughts on our guest?”

There was obvious exasperation in Bruce’s voice, “Alfred…”

He rolled his eyes, “I highly doubt you expressing your opinion is going to break the space time continuum.”

Bruce sighed before considering how to answer. “He is….not what I expected. He seems...louder, in some way.” Alfred had noticed that too. The older man came across as more expressive, more open. Which was especially impressive since he had to hide so much. Bruce continued, “He’s also far more willing to involve others, seeming almost reliant on them at times.”

“And you consider this a bad thing?” 

His ward looked at the suit on the wall, “I don’t like the idea of my future self putting others in danger because he can’t handle things himself.” 

The statement nearly made Alfred role his eyes again, of course that was how Bruce would see it. “Admitting one needs help is not weakness.”

“I suppose.” he turned back to face the butler, “After all, I doubt I’d have gotten this far without you backing me.”

The admission made Alfred’s lip twitch, “Very true, sir.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, “He’s actually reminded me of you on a few occasions.”

Confusion began to mix together with his curiosity, “How so?”

“He tried to get me to go to bed, as well as expressed worry about me patrolling without support.” Alfred didn’t know how to respond to that. It was more evidence his ward had grown more responsible with his age but was also fairly out of character. That he’d gone to bed without prompting had been strange, but he’d also tried to get his younger self to do the same? The concern about Batman patrolling alone could be tied to Bruce growing more accustomed to working with others, but Alfred wasn’t sure. “Has he displayed any other odd behaviors?”

There was a pause as Bruce ran through his double’s actions, “He called the computer the ‘batcomputer.’” Alfred felt his eyebrows raise. His ward had never been the most creative with names, but this was absurd. It was as if a child had chosen the title.

Alfred went rigid. 

A child.

_ Fuck _ .

A child who might cause Bruce's hair to turn grey early. Who Bruce would have to be more aware of his actions with, maybe even set an example for with things such as sleep schedule or reaching out to others. Who maybe has broken some of the fine china so they don't use it as much anymore. Who comes up with silly names for the equipment. Whose presence would change the manor so much the older man looks at it now like it's unrecognizable. 

Alfred set a hand on the nearest filing cabinet to steady himself as the pieces clicked into place, trying to keep the shock from overwhelming him. Next to him, Bruce frowned, "Are you alright?"

Mustering every ounce of stoicism Alfred had in him, he straightened his posture, schooled his expression, and tried not to think about how the man in front of him was going to be a father, "I am fine, Master Bruce. I was simply reminded I need to clean the computer and surrounding work area.” He walked away before his ward could interject.

It seemed so obvious now. The quiet pride the older man seemed to emanate at points in their conversation. That he gave his attention to things other than his crusade. The newfound expressiveness and all the other things he’d chalked up to friends or a significant other. God when Bruce said his older self acted like Alfred he'd meant he was acting  _ parental _ . 

It was absurd. Alfred tried to wrap his head around it as he went through the motions of wiping down the desk and keypad. His mind wandered back to the six rooms their guest stopped in front of and he felt his stomach drop. No. There was no way it was that many. Bruce built himself a reputation as a playboy and even if it was true he wouldn't have managed six kids in sixteen years. He was more careful than that. Three was more likely. When Bruce was a child they'd converted the room next to his into a playroom. Bruce had probably done the same for his children. It still seemed too surreal to be true. He'd need some kind of conformation. It went against their rules, trying to learn about his future, but Alfred didn't care. This wasn't something he could simply leave alone.

Alfred’s thoughts got cut off by a shrill alarm. He jumped away from the computer in surprise as both Bruces came running. A message flashed across the screen as the alarm continued to blare:

Joker Break Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how long y'all have been waiting for someone to put this together (I've been waiting too) and it's so fun to finally get there!!!


	9. Tempting Offers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bruces deal with the Joker's break out in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!! I did not expect this story to take so long but I also didn't really know where I was going with this. I'm really happy with how it's turning out and can say we're nearing the end. Probably 3-4 chapters left depending on how I do the epilogue. I can honestly say this chapter is worthy ob being the anniversary chapter. Although quick warning, this one does get a little darker than anything in this fic so far and deals with some mental health issues.

Fear turned in Bruce’s gut, an instinctual, deep seeded panic. His younger self responded quicker. Already starting to suit up, calling for details about the situation while Bruce was still getting a hold of himself. Alfred began to pull up various security feeds but whatever he was saying didn’t register. The part of Bruce that wasn’t overwhelmed by emotion thought _ of course _ the Joker would break out now. He was always good at picking the worst possible times to make himself a problem.

Finally pulling himself together enough to do something, Bruce turned to his younger self, “I’m coming with you.”

Bruce swears he saw the younger man’s eyes widen behind the cowl, “Are you insane?”

“You are not facing the Joker alone.” His voice was dripping in authority, leaving no room for argument. But his younger self, just like his kids, argued anyway.

“No. It’s far too dangerous.” 

Too dangerous? Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What’s dangerous is fighting that madman by yourself!” Gunshots and explosions played over and over again in Bruce’s mind. How many times had the Joker escaped because Batman was preoccupied trying to stop his latest scheme? How often were there too many bombs for Batman to be able to stop? How many people, how many _ loved ones_, had been hurt even with him there? How many got so much worse because he wasn’t? 

Bruce had to do something, he had to help, he was the only one who _ could _ help. 

His younger self’s jaw tightened, “I understand you have more experience than me, and don’t like staying behind. But having two Batman’s out at once would be disastrous. Not only would it be difficult to explain to Gotham and most likely draw the interest of other heroes we don’t want near our city, but you simply being there could disrupt the timeline, not to mention if you changed the outcome of the fight. As I said, you going out is _ too dangerous_.” He went back to putting on his gear, “Besides, The fact you’re here and don’t remember anything horrible happening on this date proves this isn’t anything major.”

That made sense. Bruce _ knew _ that made sense. But that did nothing to quell the overwhelming sense of helplessness he felt, the clawing fear in his gut that almost felt like a low dose of fear toxin. Not trusting his voice, Bruce gave a stiff nod to his counterpart.

As the younger Batman drove out of the cave, Bruce marched over to the training area. He couldn’t watch. Having to see everything happen without being able to do a single thing to help would be torture. God, why did it have to be the Joker? Why did it _ always _ have to be the Joker?! 

No matter what he did the man always came back, like a cockroach. For the thousandth time Bruce wished that clown was dead. That every near miss and close call he’d survived had landed. That he was buried six feet deep like all the people he’d put there. That all the destruction and suffering he was too weak to prevent would finally end.

Bruce froze, a twisted idea forming in his mind.

He could prevent it, he could prevent all of it. He could stop all of the pain and death and misery, and all he had to do was kill the monster that caused all of it. 

Distantly, he wrapped his knuckles as his thoughts continued to spiral. He couldn’t do it in his batsuit, or with any recognisable equipment, but there was still plenty he could use. Swords, knives, chains, a vindictive part of Bruce told him it wouldn’t be too hard to get his hands on a crow bar. The idea made him sick, but he wanted to do it, he wanted to do it so _ badly_. 

Disgust and yearning warred inside Bruce. The weight in his chest was so heavy he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Forcing himself to count as he inhaled and exhaled, Bruce staggered to the punching bag. He needed to think about this. 

Bruce’s fist connected with the bag. 

First question: is there was any measure short of killing that would stop the Joker from causing all the damage he does?

There wasn’t, as long that clown drew breath he’d find a way to wreak havoc, he’s known this since the start. 

Another hit.

Next question: what would the Joker’s death cause?

Barbara wouldn’t be paralyzed. Who knows how many people would live. Duke's parents would still be sane. Harley Quinn would never become a villain, so not only would her life be better but the lives of all those she’s hurt as well. Jason would get to grow up like he was meant to, without the trauma of dying, of Lazarus water burning his skin, of crawling out of his own fucking grave. 

The bag swung with the force of his right hook.

He was only looking at one side of this. As much as he hated to think about it, if Jason never died Tim would have never joined the family. Duke wouldn’t either, but that was different. He’d have his parents, and as much as Bruce loved him, if never meeting him is what it took to give Duke back the life he lost then so be it. But Tim didn’t have anyone. Would he be leaving Tim to wither away in the Drake mansion with nothing but the occasional postcard? It was very likely that Tim’s parents would still die, and he wouldn’t have anyone to help him through it. Not the bats or his team. Tim already struggled with mental health in his time, in a situation like that…

A roundhouse kick thwacked against its side.

All of this was assuming another villain didn’t take the Joker’s place. Time was strange and it might take steps to correct itself. Even if that didn’t happen there would be major consequences he’d have no way of predicting. Things could end up worse. And isn’t that how it always goes? He tries to help only to fuck thinks up more.

There was a sharp pain in his knuckles. 

Last question: could he actually do it?

Another hit landed.

Thinking about killing the joker was nothing new. He’d even come close a few times. But this was different. This wasn’t vengeance or retribution. He could save everyone, he could protect them. Bruce had been lucky that he’d never been put in a situation where killing was necessary to protect his family. He’d always found another way. Well, almost always. Even though Jason was back home that night at the church still haunted Bruce’s nightmares. He hadn’t been able to do anything then. 

Could he do something now?

The bag kept flying back under the blows. 

Could he kill someone for the chance of making things better?

And that’s what it was, a chance. He didn’t know how it would play out, there was no certainty aside from things being different. Bruce wouldn’t just be throwing out his morals, he’d be throwing out his reality. 

The real question was if he was willing to give up his current life on a gamble. He already knew the answer to that. 

No, he wasn’t. 

Bruce steadied the bag, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes. 

He was a selfish man. He put his own morals above saving lives, he stayed in his kid’s lives despite all the pain he caused them, he wouldn’t risk his own happiness for the _ hundreds _ he could help. 

Some hero he made. 

The sound of footsteps brought Bruce back to reality, the detective in him noting the sound was probably intentional, this person wanted to make sure he could hear them approach. Turning, Bruce saw Alfred making his way over. He frowned, “Shouldn’t you be operating support for Batman?”

“That’s what I came to tell you, The Joker has been apprehended, no casualties.”

Bruce’s frown didn’t go away, “He was caught that quickly?”

Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed, “Master Bruce, It’s been two hours.”

Bruce opened his mouth before closing it again. “Oh.”

Concern etched itself into Alfred’s features. He looked down at Bruce’s hands, taking them in his own to examine the bruised fingers and bloody knuckles. Bruce didn’t pull away. Eventually, Alfred began to tug him away from the punching bag. “Come, let's get you cleaned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods it's so fun to write Bruce falling apart. I've had that punching bag scene written for months but its so much worse now with the rest of the chapter. Heads up, the next chapter should also be from older Bruce's perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are not only appreciated but encouraged! Reactions give me life.


End file.
